Aghast at his own inspiration and boldness, he stood behind the car,
shaking all over, as he heard the precious fuel running away in a steady
stream and pattering on the road. Well, he would take the consequences
of this decisive act. From the moment he had seen those glaring
headlights and realized that he was participating in a reality, he had
been frantic, wondering what to do. Well, now he had "gone and done it"
and he was terror-stricken at his own act. The mere wasting of so much
gasoline was a terrible thing in the homely life of poor Peter.

He paused behind the car listening. He had not the courage to go
forward. He listened as the liquid fuel flowed away and trickled over
the spare tire-rack, and his beating heart seemed to keep time with it.

Ah, you Hunkajunk touring model with all your thousand delights, you
cannot get along without this trickling liquid any better than your
lowly brother, the humble Ford. Would _all_ of it flow away before that
terrible man came back?

Now Peter heard voices in front of the car; the man had returned, and
was speaking to his confederate, his pal.

"I won't get out of the car and I won't desert it," he heard the small
stranger announce sturdily.

"Didn't you say you were with me?"

"I did, but I--"

"Then shut up. The road's all right; there's nothing the matter with it;